Cold Coffee
by Yaratree
Summary: What does Roy Mustang think about, when left to himself? His career, his past and future, his subordinates...? Read, enjoy, and review!


A/N: Hello all! This piece is mainly a result of my attempt to begin exploring Mustang's character, in order to glean some understanding that I can put to use later. It's non-timeline specific, and based on his character in the manga and Brotherhood series; though I have, of course, in fleshing out his character, supplemented some of his extra-canonical thoughts and outlooks.

And in case you couldn't tell, I don't own a lick of this stuff :(

Reviews much appreciated! Enjoy :)

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><p><strong>Cold Coffee<strong>

The illumination of dusk through the blinded windows was fading, and the apartment was still.

The growing darkness brought with it peace, the kind of peace one can only find with feeling secure in being undiscovered and undisturbed. Both the peace and the darkness were welcomed by the apartment's sole inhabitant, a figure sitting on the edge of a couch, lost in thought.

Roy Mustang stared forcefully at the low wooden table in front of him as his thoughts deepened within the security of the peace. Slowly and studiously, he turned over in his mind the matters requiring his attention. He had already re-examined the most important parts of his day, an activity he engaged in every night after returning to his apartment from headquarters. Since he could little afford to miss anything that could be important, he searched his memories daily for those almost-unnoticeable but potentially telling words that people so often let slip, or the askance glance at a meeting with his superiors. Every day was an opportunity he gratefully accepted to glean some new knowledge about someone's motivation or private life, though it seemed most of what he learned these days was hardly relevant or useful. Today however, it was a deliberate withholding of information from him by his superiors that threw him harshly into doubt about what he thought he'd learned about headquarters, and this in turn had caused him to slip into that moment of thought that was deeper than usual.

A mug of reheated coffee sat forgotten and cooling beside him, leftovers from the same batch that he hadn't ended up drinking that morning. The intricate tendrils of steam rising from its calm surface curled lazily in the air before losing composure and dispersing regretfully into the rest of the room. Mustang took a deep breath, inhaling as he did the rich aroma, and sighed slightly, allowing his broad shoulders to relax a little. He glanced up at the window to estimate the time and then leaned back on the couch.

His eyes flickered at first distractedly around the room and then slowed and focused as another path of thought captured his attention. This time it was the ceiling that was forced to bear the intensity of his gaze while he processed this newest idea. With his brows furrowed by this troubling thought and his head back against the couch, Roy almost – for a moment – despaired; but then he caught himself and forced those traitorous emotions back to the farthest corner of his mind, choosing to focus instead on solutions and results. The fact that the entire situation, however, was more like a puzzle or game than a riddle or a problem meant that a simple solution would be nigh impossible to find upon mere reflection, but he stuck to his decision all the same. After all, focusing on the ways to come out ahead was how he had navigated the roiling and twisting landscape of inter-office politics for years. He had had to learn fast in the beginning, but by now he was good at it. His fierce resolve hadn't given him the choice to be otherwise.

Roy made a noise of frustration in his throat at this latest show of weakness before standing up and moving over to the window. He opened the blinds just enough to be able to watch the last shadows of the city disappear as night began its vigil. Thoughtfully, he gazed over the street immediately before him for a time. Eventually though – as always – he found his eyes lifting, until he was examining what part of the skyline he could see. Cloaked with shadow, the taller towers looked like foreboding sentinels, guarding so many precious lives. If only the people would accept what was good for them instead of clinging to the lies they were fed like lifelines in the cold sea…

The incessant glow of the city was becoming more prominent by the minute, illuminating the city with a ghastly light. Roy missed the stars he used to be able to see with his father, at his childhood home when he was growing up. So long ago it seemed now, tonight more than ever. How simple and achievable his small goals had been then, when his world was no larger than his small town; but that was before that world had been turned upside down by the death of his family. Before he'd learned alchemy; before he'd joined the military; before he'd been blooded in Ishval. Before he'd learned to question the decency of everything and everyone around him.

For that was what it had come to, after Ishval – he could never look at the state or the military with that same faith, with those same oh-so-youthful, clean ideals that he'd held before. Back when he'd first signed, he'd only wanted to use his alchemy for the good of the people, and joining an organization as far-reaching and woven into the fabric of the nation as the military seemed an effective way to do just that. But more and more every day, he could not reconcile his participation in the decimation and massacre that had been the Ishvalan Rebellion with his intention of using alchemy for the good of all. Instead, the naive grandeur of his dream back then had led him to use his fire for slaughter in the name and by the order of the military.

But the worst part, the part that was the hardest to bear about the whole thing, was that he could not even swear to himself that that would never happen again; if he was to see the resolution he'd made on the day of their _victory_ in Ishval come to fulfillment – to rise high enough to be able to establish his system of protection – then he would have to remain a State Alchemist of Amestris, a dog of the military, to be unleashed on those who the Fuehrer deemed unmanageable, or chose to make an example of. And the only _damn_ things he could do in that case were to employ every clever maneuver he could pull off, to use his rank to influence the situation such that he ended up doing as little blood-shedding as possible, and to trust in his loyal, faithful, and unwavering team. His faith in them, in any circumstance, had become absolute; he had chosen and approached each of them only after examining thrice over their strength of conviction and purity of intent, and they had proven his trust well deserved time and again. He could not be more thankful, in his own way, for finding them, because he wasn't sure what he would do – what he _could_ do – without those happy few at his side.

Roy turned his back on the window, the obscurity of the stars quickly dissipating the brief interest he had had in the outside view. Closing the blinds once more on the distracting and unsavory light of the city, he returned darkness to his apartment and reclaimed his seat on the couch, elbows on knees, and fingers interlocked in front of his face.

With closed eyes, he let the peace of being alone enveloped him as he once again began to lose himself in thoughts that were unraveling in an increasingly random manner, colored by the philosophic acceptance born of late nights and too little sleep. He thought of the woman he'd brought back to his apartment earlier in the week, and was surprised to find himself reflecting on how empty his time with her now felt. A familiar feeling by now, the sense of purposelessness that permeated through his memories of nights like those, and one that always led him to half-heartedly regret wasting his time when his goals were so much higher. However, a beautiful woman in his arms was a pleasurable distraction; not to mention he didn't think he'd be sane to see his goals fulfilled if he had to fill every night with solitary thought.

For though he'd never admit it to anyone else, he found himself desperately lonely every now and then. Often he thought that he enjoyed the nights he spent out with Havoc and Riza a little more than he probably should. How could he not, when it was hard to be any kind of serious after a couple drinks with Havoc? And though Riza rarely accompanied them, her smile and the sound of her laughter when she did worked wonders for his state of mind. She was truly a gem, that one. He was luckier than he would probably ever know to have her unwavering loyalty and her keen eyes on his back.

And, contrary to their beliefs, he considered himself highly fortunate to have the Elrics in his charge as well. Elrics in the plural, for Roy knew that he could depend on Al's loyalty to his brother to take the younger alchemist wherever Ed needed him most; so while Ed was on military business, that place was usually at his side. For this, Roy was forever grateful to Al. Ed so often rushed ahead with frighteningly little thought to his own well-being that it frequently took Al's quick maneuvering to tie up the loose ends and keep Ed's back safe.

As for his actual subordinate, Roy's feelings were slightly more complicated.

Roy wasn't sure what it was or how Ed did it, but there was just _something_ about Edward Elric that never failed to captivate him whenever Ed was around. Maybe it was the way Ed never gave up, or how he always picked himself back up when he failed with a fierce glare and increased determination; or maybe it was something in the way that he was always looking out for his brother, and could be obscenely over-protective of him at the worst times. And there was something about the lithe way he moved, too – how his automail seemed almost more a part of him than his natural limbs; how he seemed always so sure in all his movements.

Maybe it was the way he scowled and snapped at Roy every time Roy baited him; or maybe it was whatever-it-was in the display of innocence, trust, and hope which never failed to appear in Ed's eyes during those encounters – and of which Ed seemed completely unaware – that also never failed to completely disarm Roy and send him scrambling after the suddenly scattered fragments of what remained of his train of thought.

There was just _something_, or maybe it was everything…that ignited a feeling that confounded him, but the existence of which he could never quite successfully deny, even to himself. A feeling that Roy wasn't sure he should have for his unique subordinate who was fourteen years younger than himself.

The only thing he could ever really decide was that it was a feeling that it was easier not to think about, since he was almost sure his subordinate never thought about him.

Coming to terms with such musings always left Roy apathetic and tired. The empty bedroom seemed irrationally far from his current seat, so for a few minutes he considered simply crashing where he was for the night; the couch would be comfortable enough, and since the bedroom was empty anyway, it didn't really matter where he chose to sleep. Eventually, however, he sighed again and slowly pushed himself up. Looking down he noticed the once again untouched coffee, by now long cold. Picking it up and carrying it to the small kitchen, Roy poured it out and then retired to his bed to rest until morning.


End file.
